


such breathless desires

by impertinency



Category: The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue Series - Mackenzi Lee
Genre: Letters, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 10:41:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13052358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impertinency/pseuds/impertinency
Summary: He keeps Monty’s letters.Percy rereads them until the ink is faded and the paper is brittle, until he’s memorized every line and paragraph. He traces the outline of the words, trailing trembling fingers across the messy, slanted letters as though touching them will bring him closer to Monty.





	such breathless desires

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Macdragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macdragon/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, macdragon!
> 
> Title from "A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder" because I'm easily amused.

They get outrageously drunk the night before Monty leaves for Eton.

Percy drains glass after glass until he’s relaxed and happy and in danger of becoming overly sentimental. Monty reaches that point early in the evening, and he spends the better part of the night draped over Percy, his voice bright and cheerful as he rambles on about anything and everything.

All of Monty’s touches, so light and tender and lingering, make something warm and pleasant curl in the pit of his stomach. Percy returns them in kind, more frequently and more affectionately than is respectable, but he refuses to feel guilty about it. Monty is leaving him tomorrow, and Percy will savor every last minute they have together.

He looks at Monty, at his messy hair and his dimples and his rakish smile, and wants to say, _I’ll miss you_ and _I think I may love you_ and _please don’t forget me. Come back to me._

“Don’t leave tomorrow,” he mumbles instead, face pressed into the curve of Monty’s neck. They’re sprawled on Monty’s bed, twisted and tangled together, and Percy breathes in the scent of Monty, all smoke and gin and whiskey. “Everything is going to be so frightfully dull without you around.”

Monty pets his hair lazily, and his voice is amused when he says, “I’ll plan to miss the coach tomorrow morning. Would that work?”

“Yes,” Percy says, grunting as he shifts himself into an upright position. He balances himself on his elbows and peers up at Monty. “And what shall we do instead? Run off to the Continent? Galavant through London, maybe?”

“Run far away from my father, for one thing,” Monty murmurs. He looks away briefly, and then quick as a flash, his expression turns charming and sly. “Perhaps we can become highwaymen. Or go to sea and join a pirate crew.”

“You’d make a dashing highwayman,” Percy says, smiling. 

“The stuff of legends,” Monty agrees. “I’ll get a nice, big hat and one of those long, leather coats for my disguise.”

“Very debonair,” Percy says. The thought of Monty in such an outfit makes him shiver, and he tucks the image away for a later moment. “All the ladies will swoon when they see you. Gentlemen, too.”

Monty preens, ruffling his already tousled hair. “Everyone I rob will fall instantly in love with me.”

“As if they don’t already.” He means it to sound teasing, but the words sound more wistful than he intends. “You’ll have no problem charming everyone at Eton.”

Monty looks down at him, lips curling into the beginning of a smile. “Don’t look so grim, darling. I’ll see you when this term is over. It’ll pass in no time at all.”

“I’m sure you’ll be counting down the days.” 

“Obviously. I’m going to be dreadfully bored at Eton, if it’s any consolation.”

“It is somewhat.”

“I’m glad my pain and suffering brings you such enjoyment,” Monty says. “You scoundrel.”

Percy laughs. He relaxes against Monty as they lapse into silence, his arm curled around Monty’s waist and his head resting in the curve of Monty’s shoulder. He’s on the verge of falling asleep when Monty whispers, “I wish you were coming with me.”

Percy sighs. They’ve had this discussion at length multiple times over the past half year, and he doesn’t want to have it again. Not now. Not when they have so little time left together.

“So do I,” he says softly. He reaches down and slides his hand into Monty’s, squeezing slightly. “But since I wont be going with you, I want you to write to me while you’re at school.”

“Every single day. I’ll need something to combat the tedium.” 

He pauses. “Monty, I‘m serious.”

Monty’s voice is oddly hesitant and shy when he says, “So am I.”

 

*

 

True to his word, Monty sends his first letter scarcely a week after his departure. Another follows a few days later, and then another after that. 

His letters vary in length, some nothing but short paragraphs and some pages long. Monty’s messy scrawl covers every spare inch of paper with messages that say, _I miss you_ and _I wish you were here_ and _you should visit me, everyone here is so frightfully dull and unimpressed by my charm._

It makes something sharp and tight twist around his heart to know that even with miles separating them, Monty still thinks of him. He’s always worried that there will come a day where Monty decides to abandon him for someone else. Someone more suited to his social class. Someone whose mere existence doesn’t cause scandal and outrage, rumors and whispers and stares.

 _Sometimes, I think you’re the only one who cares for me,_ he writes one day. _That if I disappeared, you would be the only one who'd mourn._

He stares at the words, watching the ink dry, and feels a trickle of shame. His aunt and uncle care for him as much as they’re able to, he knows. His friends in Cheshire and at school do as well, but he doesn’t crave their affection and attention in the same way he does with Monty.

His relationship with Monty is unusual and, he suspects, more than a little codependent. He’s always known that he and Monty were destined for separate paths in life, that there would be places they couldn’t traverse together, adventures they couldn’t experience side by side. But they’ve lived in each other’s pockets for so long that Percy honestly doesn’t know how to survive without Monty. Even when he’s being an irredeemable rake, Monty means more to him than anyone else in the world. 

 

*

 

His aunt and uncle send him to school outside Liverpool. 

It’s a good school and an unexpected opportunity, and Percy is grateful for it. His classmates are smart and clever, but they tend to avoid him. They watch him closely, whisper about him in the halls and classrooms, and he finds it tiring. Even the ones who are polite and cordial still keep their distance.

He can’t help comparing them to Monty. In fact, he finds himself comparing _everyone_ to Monty. 

Percy feels the distance between them like an ache. Eton isn’t that far, not truly, but there are days where it feels like Monty’s on another continent. He misses Monty more than ever, and the melancholy and loneliness settle over him like a shroud with each passing week.

 _I miss you_ , he writes, again and again. _There’s no one quite like you here._

 _There’s no one quite like me anywhere_ , Monty replies. 

That, Percy thinks, is only part of the problem. 

 

*

 

In truth, he doesn’t know when he first fell in love with Monty.

There was never a grand revelation, a moment of surprise and shock, a memory he can look back on as the turning point. He’s felt this way for as long as he can remember, has spent years knowing that his heart belongs to Monty. That no one else would ever come close to claiming a piece of it.

His love has grown into something fierce and unyielding over the years, something that presses against his heart with each gentle touch and lingering look and soft word.

With every letter he receives.

 

*

 

He keeps Monty’s letters.

Not all of them, of course. Monty writes frequently and has a tendency to send very long, very detailed letters, sometimes about nothing in particular. 

But he keeps most of them anyway.

Percy rereads them until the ink is faded and the paper is brittle, until he’s memorized every line and paragraph. He traces the outline of the words, trailing trembling fingers across the messy, slanted letters as though touching them will bring him closer to Monty. He hides them away when he’s finished, stacks them together and ties them with ribbon as though they’re love letters from a paramour.

In his more maudlin moments, he likes to believe they are, and he scans each sentence and paragraph for any indication that Monty returns his feelings.

But he finds nothing. 

It’s foolish, he knows, to pine after someone who will never love him back.

Who _can_ never love him back.

Sometimes he thinks the great tragedy of his life is that he’s always been a little in love with Monty.

 

*

 

Shortly before their first term is over, he receives a letter that reeks of whiskey and cigarette ash. That in itself isn’t unusual, but the contents are completely different from anything else Monty has written before.

It reads:

_My dearest, Percy:_

_I apologize in advance for the contents of this letter. I’m quite drunk as I write this._

_I hate it here. I hate it almost as much as I hate Cheshire. It’s miserable and lonely and the lads here are insufferably tedious. Half of them are utterly daft and the other half think it’s a great honor to be in such hallowed halls. It’s intolerable._

_I wish you were here instead, darling. You’re far more interesting and clever and lovely than anyone I’ve met here._

_Every time something interesting or ridiculous happens, I want to immediately run and tell you. But you’re miles away, enjoying the comforts of home and a school you enjoy, while I’m wasting away in this blasted place._

_Do you realize this is the first time we’ve spent so much time apart? Do you remember when my family went on holiday to France for a fortnight? We thought it was the end of the world to be separated for that long._

_This is worse. So much worse._

_You’d make Eton much more bearable. They’d be lucky to have you. I admit, I have not taken the time to get to truly know anyone here, but I’d wager that none of them hold a candle to you. When I leave for the Christmas holiday, I won’t miss any of them the way I miss you._

_I’m counting the days until we see each other again. I have missed you every hour of every day, and I don’t plan to let you out of my sight once we’re reunited._

_Yours,  
Monty_

 

Percy reads it once, and then a second time, and he feels something hopeful spark within him. He folds it carefully and slips it into the stack with all the other letters he’s kept, and resolves to discuss it with Monty when they next meet.

 

*

 

Monty, as it turns out, does not remember writing the letter.

“Do you know how many times I’ve attempted to write to you while drunk?” he says, laughing. “I’m honestly surprised I even addressed it correctly, let alone posted it.”

“Oh.” Percy frowns and looks away, feeling foolish. 

“What did it say?” Monty asks. He’s halfway drunk, his hair and clothes in disarray and his cheeks flushed. “Anything good?”

Percy swallows, fights back the rising tide of disappointment. “Nothing of consequence.”

 _Clearly nothing worth remembering_ , he thinks sourly.

Monty grins and waves his glass in Percy’s direction. “Well, I resolve to write you more entertaining letters in the new year.”

Percy smiles, half-hearted and wistful, and does not think of the letter he had written in reply. The one he had planned to give to Monty tonight. When he returns home later that night, he throws it into the fire and watches it shrivel and disappear in the flames.

 

*

 

Percy spends the majority of their holiday watching Monty kiss pretty girls and chase after handsome boys. He feels sick with jealousy, and he debates confessing his feelings, airing all his secrets for better or for worse.

He has several opportunities throughout the month, but every time he tries, the words seem to get stuck in his throat. 

Instead, he takes to writing his confessions on scraps of paper. _I love you_ , he writes, over and over. _You mean everything to me, Monty. I want to kiss you and hold your hand and wake up beside you each morning._

_I hate when we’re separated. I want to spend every moment by your side._

_I love you more than I thought was possible._

He saves them all. Carries them in his pocket and waits for the right moment to hand them off to Monty.

The moment never seems to come.

 

*

 

It snows the day they return to school. 

The mood is somber as they say their goodbyes, and something about it must make Monty suspicious, because he peers at Percy with alarming intensity.

“What is it?” Monty asks, brow furrowed. “You’ve been acting strange all month. Are you keeping a secret from me?”

“It’s nothing,” Percy says. He reaches out and brushes the snowflakes from Monty’s hair, letting his hand linger for a moment longer than necessary. He pushes a lock of hair from Monty’s forehead and lets out a breath, the air between them fogging.

They stare at each other for a long moment, and then Monty pulls him into an embrace, clutching Percy tight. “I’ll miss you,” he says, too low for anyone else to hear.

Percy closes his eyes. “I’ll miss you, too.”

 

*

 

His letters to Monty become slightly more sedate. 

If Monty notices the difference, he doesn’t say anything. He still writes with the same astounding frequency, sending at least one letter per week.

It isn’t until early March that things begin to change, and not for the better.

The first letter reads:

_Dear Percy:_

_The most amazing thing has happened. There were several new students this term. Naturally, I didn’t pay attention when they were announced. Until I saw this boy across the dining hall with the most attractive dimple in his chin._

_He’s tall and blonde and blue eyed. My knees grew positively weak._

_I think I’ve found something that makes Eton worthwhile after all. I will send updates on my progress. Wish me luck!_

 

The second is similar to the first:

_Dear Percy,_

_His name in Sinjon and he has eyes so big and blue you could drown in them. His hair is as blonde as the sun and his smile is bright enough that it lights up the entire room._

_I think I’m in love._

 

Percy stops reading. Jealousy and misery and disappointment coil through him, and he tosses the letter into the fire without finishing it.

 

*

 

Monty continues to send him love letters meant for someone else, and Percy continues to burn each letter without reading it. 

He tries to reply, but finds that he instead begins a habit of writing letters he’ll never send.

They all sound the same, some variation of _I love you_ and _I want to run away with you_ and _my heart belongs to you_. He crumples each one of them, throws them in the fire and watches them turn to smoke and ash.

It’s not a good habit.

It’s one he cannot bring himself to stop.


End file.
